I’m bad at boys. I get it.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I really can’t bear to think about rejection.
No matter how much I try to convince myself that it’s not such a big deal.
But I’m bad at talking.
I’m bad at hugging.
I’m bad at looking them in, ya know, their eyes.
I just don’t know what I’m doing.
And I don’t think I have room in my heart to get close to another guy, be rejected, and rescue our friendship.
And I’m supposed to feel like everyone else is feeling this way, too.
Most days I’m not pretty enough
And I’m scared.
And I pray.
Oh God do I pray.
And I’ve gotta trust that the plan that has me in mind also has my happiness in mind.
But sometimes that’s hard.
And mostly I’m just self defeating.
I need to get out of my head.
And just kind of live for once.
Haven’t posted in a while.
This post is going to be another fragmented one.
Too busy with everything to write cohesive paragraphs.
But right now.
I don’t know what’s going on or where I’m at.
I know it will pass.
And I know I’ll be fine.
So that’s a step up from previous seasons like this.
I’ve been journaling a lot for an “Art for Healing and Personal Growth” class.
That’s been pretty interesting.
And I feel like that class, newfound independence, and new faith things are conspiring to make my life super content and driven.
At least until recently.
And I’m also off and on writing letters/prayers to/with my husband.
Who, if he exists, is unknown to me.
And I guess I liked it at first.
But I’m thinking of stopping because it reminds me that I don’t know him and that maybe he isn’t real.
I don’t know why I’m lonely.
I’m pulling away from religion and barely holding God’s hand right now.
And it was all of a sudden.
I just can’t take the “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots.”
And all the “Go, and do. Because you’re a Christian and this is what Christians do.”
I can’t take guilt tripping.
I can’t take shaming in the name of some kind of love.
Love masquerading as Christ.
I can’t handle not accepting that different people are called to live out The Call in different ways.
And I can’t handle evangelism which focuses on the evangelists interpretation rather than the needs of the person who is being evangelized to.
I can’t handle spiritual gaslighting.
And so I find myself not able to handle most other Christians right now.
Which is sad.
And I know, or at least I hope, that it will pass.
I hope I’ll be back on top soon.
But not right now.
I guess Advent is just coming early for me this year.
I would like a best friend.
I would like someone to hug and cuddle up with and sleep next to.
I would like someone who I share mutual forehead kissing privileges with.
And, I guess, as a Christian, I’m supposed to be content with Christ.
And I feel so guilty for wanting eyes to look into, lips to kiss, and a physical hand to hold.
But I can’t imagine there is any part of my God which wants me to feel guilty for wanting a partner.
So here I am.
Stuck with wanting someone.
Stuck barely holding the hand of God.
Because being around His children makes me feel inadequate.
And that makes me sad.
And I’m sure it makes Him sad.
And that knowledge is the only thing keeping me from letting go.
It will pass.
It always does.
But until that day comes.
Until I have a hand to hold.
I will be expectantly and eagerly waiting.
Good thing it’s almost Christmas.
I co-deaned a grandparent/child church camp this past Monday… I co-deaned it with my children’s minister. At lunch and dinner I could hear her talking to her coworkers at the camp who she’s know for decades saying “this is the young lady I brought with me, and she’s in the process of discerning a call for ministry.” And all I could think in my head was “No! Don’t tell them! Now it’s out and what if I’m not cut out for this? I want with all of my heart to serve the church as a minister in… something… But. What if it doesn’t work out? What if they ask me questions? What if they hear me read Psalm 19 after one heck of an exhausting four days and realize how much I trip over my words? What if they find out?”
I don’t know what I’m so afraid of. But I’m afraid. I’m also really excited at the possibility of finding a mentor in the next couple of years and being in a group of other people my age who are also in “the process”. But right now. In this very moment. I’m mostly just scared. I’m about to move and whichever church I choose is the church I also choose for my sister… It’s the church she’ll be raised in. My twin and I changed churches around the same age and it’s kind of a big deal. So maybe I’ll work on finding the two of us a good fit and then worry about “the process”. Introduce myself as the scattered girl who stumbles over words and is loving every terrifying step of discernment. I have the time, I think. If there’s anything God has with me, it’s patience.
“the laying on of something as a burden or obligation.”
Today is Ash Wednesday and the beginning of the season of lent, when those who choose to do so focus on spiritually preparing themselves for the resurrection on Easter.
I was 25 minutes late to the imposition of the ashes service. Because college.
But I got there. I sang Rock of Ages. And I walked the walk that I grow anxious for when the days are short and the nights are long.
I hate being an imposition. And the only I place I consistently leave the feeling of imposing behind is at church. It’s where I rest. More than anywhere else, even ren faire. I forget the stress and the anxiety, and I rest knowing I am in the hearts of those around me and am shrouded in love and wishes for peace.
My pastor mentioned something about the ashes, though. That, completely inadvertently on his part, brought my highest level of worry to the forefront of my thoughts as I stood waiting to walk the walk. He said that the first mark is an I… And it represents everyone. Now, whether he meant it or not, I realize now what I never quite understood about Lent. Yes, it’s a good spiritual practice to give something up for a time, but why does there have to be a season? Why make such a fuss? And I know now the answer. Because by having a season, we know we’re together. We can look at the ashes on each other’s foreheads and we can realize that not only are the ashes imposed on us, not only is some sort of fast imposed on us, but we become and imposition to each other. And when one’s greatest, hugest fear is that they will be an imposition, it’s a crazy comfort to realize that it’s the intent for 40 days.
My words aren’t doing my thoughts justice, but I think you get my meaning. I rest knowing that I definitely and unabashedly impose on each and every person who walked that walk today. And that’s liberating.
Multiple varieties of me being a sitter began last night. I’m being treated well by the four legged, two legged, and four walled entities. Though the tiny four leg is an adorable ball of absolute crazy.
We talked about gender differences from the perspective of evolutionary psychology today at ze college. All the stuff sounded rather familiar…. Like how women are more cautious of casual sex than men due to the “price” of conception and such. But, get this. The only reason the stuff sounds familiar is because there have been extreme voices of conservative Christianity which have expressed the same thoughts. Only, rather than stating how things have happened theyre stating what should happen. It cracks me up that something with evolution in the name reminded me of the statements I’ve heard from some people who are into the whole young Earth thing. (I’m not saying all or even most young Earth folks are quite so chauvinistic.)
Greek is breaking me. First crazy week of this semester starts Monday. 3 exams. One lunch. One presentation. One paper. More fencing. Yep. It’ll be cahrazy. 😉
“It’s so insane, that anyone today still thinks that being born with male genitalia automatically makes you more qualified to know and speak for God than does being a person who actually can bring life into the world.” – See more at: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnshore/2014/01/what-do-women-know-about-what-it-takes-to-be-a-pastor/#sthash.mkNZ4hnu.dpuf (This whole thing is great. The blogger is great, too, but he tends towards more assertive than I am super comfy with. But still. He has some truthiness from a lot of different sides.)
The entirety of With Any Sort of Certainty by Streetlight Manifesto. It’s sticking in my head today. I’m not entirely sure why, but I’m also not complaining.
Hmmmm… Dreams. They’re some weird stuff. Nasal decongestants have a strange tendency to make mine more vivid and memorable. Last night’s was scary, but there were a couple people who were there that I knew would have my back. It was a nervewracking dream.
I’m sitting in the gym waiting for fencing, trying to stay warm and translating The Clouds. Next week is the first intense week if this semester, but everything’s going well and I’m not too worried about much just yet. So far my only problem has been two busted water bottles in one month of class.
It’s cold you guys. Stay warm. Hug a penguin.
Frustration is a pretty typical emotion for me lately. I waaaaaaant to get out of this house. I love my family. I really really do. But my efforts need to be focused on me for a while. My mental health is suffering. My physical health, well, it’s never been great. But I need to figure out who I am independent of my Twin (this one’s the hardest), the overwhelming cuteness of my baby sister, the strength of my Mom, and the conflict that has arisen from my Dad. I want to go be awesome and know that I’m responsible for it. I want to know that it really is me that people trust and respect and see as valuable, not just daughter or sister of ______.
I’ve been handling these feelings with a fair amount of competence lately. But. I’ve been asked to house/dog/adolescent sit for upwards of a week for a family my family is friends with. I work (read: act) with the Dad, but haven’t had as much time as I would like to get to know the Mom and daughter. I’ve been discussing what will be involved in the sitting job (taking someone to school before going to school myself, generally taking care of the house, and feeding the dogs, etc) with the Mom the past few days and she keeps talking about how nice it is to know that there’s someone she can trust with her house and dogs and young teenage daughter. I’m rather flattered that I’m trusted so much. And I definitely respect that trust. But it threw me for a loop initially because while I certainly love all three of them to death and know that the Mom and Dad are there for me if I were to ever need them (and the daughter is pretty cool, too), I cannot fathom what I’ve done to make them trust me. Goodness, I could be a pot-smoking nut who just puts on a show (I’m not. For the record. But still.) for all they know. So, I asked my Mom. And she said it’s just because I’m her daughter.
My worth is defined by who my mother is?
Hold up a sec.
I love my Mom. I really do. If you know only one thing about me, it’s probably that I love my Mom and respect her to pieces (unfortunately she doesn’t really believe me lately, but I’m not sure what to do about that). But I have to believe that they trust me for me and not because of her. Sure, she helped make me who I am. But I guarantee there is a whole host of decisions I’ve made and values I’ve come to hold with very little help from her (fun fact, courtesy of a silly internet quiz, we’re officially on completely opposite sides of the political spectrum). There are things she’s done that I definitely don’t agree with. There are things she holds as truth which I see with skeptic’s eyes at best. I am definitely a different person. Right?
I need to start living in a space where I know it’s ME that people find trustworthy, and not my Mom. I need to know that it’s ME that’s loveable, not just my sister. I need to know that it’s ME that’s interesting, not just by Twin. I need to know that it’s ME that’s intelligent, not just my Dad. And maybe this is ridiculous or prideful or something. But clearly I have very little reason to think it’s true. To think that my worth comes from me and not the people around me. If I believe that the worth of my brother is a product of his own effort, if I believe that of most adults (even if they’ve only been “adults” for a few months), I should be able to believe it of myself.